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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584822">Distorting A Code</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth'>wordsliketeeth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Death Note (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Airports, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Blood, Blow Jobs, Choking, Codependency, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Don't Try This At Home, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Gun Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Instigating, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Loaded Gun, M/M, Master/Pet, Mello Has A Soft Spot For Matt, Ownership, Past Drug Use, Praise Kink, Puppy Matt, Rough Sex, Scars, Shameless Smut, Worship, past self-harm, violence as foreplay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:42:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Matt retrieves the fallen belt and loops it around his neck like a collar, then he threads the remaining stretch of leather through the affixed buckle, forming a makeshift leash. He looks up at Mello with a profusion of alertness that only Mello seems to bring out of him. He curls his fingers around Mello's wrist, his pulse alive beneath his fingers, and places the belt in the heart of his palm." Matt feels like misbehaving at the most inopportune of times and Mello is as temperamental as ever (and out of chocolate).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Distorting A Code</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The airport gatehouse is packed with so many travelers that Matt feels like an oily sardine jammed into a tin can. It's easily ninety degrees plus outside and the oppressive humidity clings to his skin like the fine sheen of sweat dampening his favorite shirt. The central air can't quite outpace the high temperatures and although it's an improvement, it's not enough.</p><p>Matt looks at the activity outside through large windows and he can see the unmistakable traces of haze and smoke from heavy pollution. Waves of heat dance across the tarmac and there isn't a single cloud in the sky. It's only the sun shining forth with resplendence, looking down on the world as if it wants to burn everything it touches. Matt thinks he can relate.</p><p>If he and Mello had been called to Tokyo sooner, the cherry blossom trees he can see at a distance would be in full bloom. The season for soft pale petals, however, has long passed. It imbues Matt with a strange sense of disappointment and he finally looks away from the glass, his eyes watering from his war with the sun.</p><p>He slumps against the back of an uncomfortable chair, his PSP cradled in his hands. It holds a game that he's played a thousand times before but there's little else to do, so he works his fingers over the buttons like he's breaching the system. It's ironic, he thinks to himself—if he had shown up a minute later his flight would likely have been on schedule but because he made a point of being punctual, it's been postponed. All his life—or so it seems—he's been damned with the devil's own luck.</p><p>“Matt, let's get going,” Mello says, his tone low and dominated by irritation.</p><p>Matt continues to move his fingers over the tiny controls, his brow furrowed in concentration.</p><p>“Hey,” Mello snaps, nudging Matt in the ribs with the sharp point of his elbow. “Are you listening to me?”</p><p>“Yeah. One sec,” Matt says, only half-listening to the blond.</p><p>“If I stuck around for all the seconds you wanted me to wait, I'd be long dead by now.” Mello pushes himself out of his chair and slides a gloved hand through his hair. “I'm leaving. You can stay here if you want but I've waited on this flight long enough.”</p><p>Mello turns on his heel and starts in the direction of the flight terminal. Matt quickly turns off the handheld console and stuffs it in his jean pocket. He nearly tumbles out of his seat, legs stiff and back aching from poor posture. Mello hasn't gotten far and it's easy to spot him with his flaxen hair and glossy leather pants. Matt hastily closes the distance between them and purposely knocks his shoulder against Mello's.</p><p>“You don't have to be so bitchy, Mel,” Matt needles, the white slash of a smile taking over the shape of his dry lips.</p><p>Mello slants his gaze in Matt's direction, his eyes cold and narrowed. “I'm not being bitchy, and don't call me Mel.”</p><p>“You're always bitchy. There's no point in getting your knickers in a twist about it now.” Matt lifts his shoulders in the barest hint of a shrug. “Though, I guess that'd be like asking me to quit smoking. You wouldn't know reserve from restraint if someone spelled it out for you.”</p><p>Mello's measured footsteps slip into sudden stillness. He turns around and the large scar on his face shifts as he scowls at Matt, his temper rising. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?” Mello asks, darkness creeping into his vision like dangerous heat. The dig of his mouth turns hard and Matt's stomach somersaults with anticipation.</p><p>“Why would I do that? You're a pain in the ass when you're in a <em>good</em> mood. I know better than to push you when you're like this.” Matt sweeps his tongue out across his lips and over the thin cracks lining his mouth.</p><p>“When I'm like what?” Mello asks sharply. His gaze is boring into Matt's and he's wearing contention like a crown. “When I'm inconvenienced because we had to sit in a shitty airport waiting on a flight that should have been here two hours ago? When I'm irritated because I've spent a good one-hundred of those minutes listening to that fucking game of yours? I'm overheated, I'm overtaxed, and I'm out of chocolate, so excuse me if I seem a bit temperamental.”</p><p>“A bit?” Matt arches an eyebrow and smiles. “You're as short-fused as a teenage girl.”</p><p>“I don't know why the fuck you're trying to bait me but it's not going to work. I'm getting on that flight and you're going to keep that game on mute while I catch up on sleep.” Mello shakes his head in a gesture of annoyance. “I don't know why you're choosing now to utilize your time.” He exhales a huff of breath and grabs Matt's arm roughly, his fingers digging in against horizontal stripes hard enough to bruise the skin beneath. “Now come along.”</p><p>“What if I don't want to?” Matt tears his arm free of Mello's grip and takes a single step backward. “What if I want to be a little bitch like you?” Matt swallows the bare trace of saliva on his tongue, his heart hammering in his chest. He knows that if anything is going to work, this will. Though, he doesn't know why he's choosing to do this now anymore than Mello does.</p><p>Mello stops for a second time but he doesn't turn around. Matt wonders if he's gone too far and despite his proclivity to fan the flames of Mello's everlasting fire, the last thing he wants is to burn the bridges he spent so much time building. His heart skips into overdrive and the bead of sweat that trickles down his spine has nothing to do with heat. “Mello?” he prompts, his voice dropping an octave.</p><p>After a brief moment of consideration, Mello turns around and closes the distance keeping them apart. He curls his fingers around his gun's grip and presses the muzzle against Matt's hip, hard enough to send a dull ache through the jut of bone. “You just had to push me, didn't you?”</p><p>Matt doesn't try to hide the crooked smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “I didn't <em>have</em> to. I just wanted to.” He shrugs, knowing that whatever answer he gives won't change the end result.</p><p>“I swear, sometimes I should just pull the trigger and be done with you,” Mello grumbles.</p><p>“You should do a lot of things that you don't do, Blondie,” Matt tells him, cigarette smoke heavy on his breath. “I guess that's the price you pay for being a genius. You can't have it all, eh?”</p><p>“I'm not interested in your chalk talk.” Mello scoffs. “Are you trying to take the piss out of me?” He tips his head back and straight blond strands brush the sharp angle of his jaw. “Forget it, it doesn't matter.” He jabs Matt in the hip and jerks his head in the direction of a narrow hallway. “Walk. We're taking a trip to the men's room.”</p><p>Matt diverts his gaze and pretends to observe the luminous corridor, wondering how Mello even knew it was there but unruffled; Mello never misses a thing. He thinks about protesting in the guise of the feigned innocence he knows drives Mello crazy but he weighs the outcome and it seems futile. He has no interest in fighting a battle he can't win, and Mello will prevail because Matt has every intention of letting him.</p><p>Notwithstanding his surrender, Matt decides he's still going to have a bit of fun.</p><p>“I hate it when Master gets mad at me,” he mutters, his mouth set in a pout. He follows Mello's command and starts walking in the direction of the restroom, fully aware of what the epithet does to the blond stalking behind him.</p><p>“I wouldn't be mad if you behaved like a good puppy and listened to me,” Mello counters, his voice thick and grating. <em>Two can play that game</em>, he thinks, and strides forward until Matt comes to a stop in front of the door that leads into the room marked 'Men'.</p><p>Matt turns around and the lights from above catch on his goggles like the glint in his eye. “Puppies are seldom good unless they're asleep. They're unpredictable and troublesome, so if I'm going to act accordingly, I might as well make it worth it.” He wraps a hand around Mello's neck and tugs him forward, his teeth bared and nails scratching on pale skin. He fits his lips around the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bites down hard enough to break the skin.</p><p>Mello shoves Matt up against the wall and presses his fingers to the fresh wound reflexively. When he draws his hand away from the pebbled skin, his fingertips are slick with blood and saliva. His eyes darken and when he shifts his gaze from Matt to the restroom door, Matt immediately heeds the unspoken demand.</p><p>A middle-aged man stands just to the right of the grungy sink counter that stretches from the sidewall to the first adjacent lavatory, his gnarled hands twisting under the loud hum of an air dryer. Matt notices a large chip in the cheap laminate countertop just before Mello orders the bystander out of the restroom. He's been on the receiving end of Mello's commanding presence more times than he can count, so he's unsurprised when the man does as he's told without any dispute.</p><p>Mello doesn't wait for the door to close on its own, impatience a virtue that he's never come to accept. He kicks the door shut and slides the rusty lock into place with an audible groan. He turns on Matt and waves his armed hand in the direction of the stalls.</p><p>“Go check them. I don't want any surprises,” Mello orders.</p><p>Matt says nothing as he heeds the blond's command. The shuffle of his feet and the quiet whir coming from several ceilings vents are the only sounds against the backdrop of the room. Matt idly pushes open each stall door in turn, each groaning protest of dry hinges as deficient as the rest of the time-worn restroom. When he's finished, he walks back to where Mello's standing, his gun resting atop the counter within close reach of his splayed fingers. His head is hung, and the soap-scum spattered mirror doesn't lend Matt any visual reference to his expression.</p><p>The restroom smells like antiseptic and Matt is honestly surprised that anyone has bothered to clean it at all. He recognizes the astringency of toilet cleaner and bleach spray from home, an effluvious memory that represents the days when Mello's compulsions override his ability to focus and he scours the house from top to bottom. There's a strange scent floating among the dust motes that spiral down to the floor, something like baby powder or cheap perfume. Matt wrinkles his nose and tries to rub out the strange notes with the back of his hand.</p><p>When Matt lifts his head, Mello is staring at him directly, his eyes alight with the flames of his fused feelings. He drags his gaze down Matt's body and Matt swears he can feel it burn through him. Then, in some distant corner of his mind, Matt wonders how long it would take to parse all of Mello's emotions and if it could even be done. Deciding that some things are best left untouched, he stuffs the thought between the gossamer webs of mental consideration and the myriad of <em>all things Mello</em> in the recess of his mind.</p><p>“Are you just gonna stand there and gawk at me?” Matt asks him, forever the opportunist.</p><p>A low and chilling chuckle purrs up the dark of Mello's throat and Matt listens to the sound of his heavy boots as he moves across the cold tile. Mello reaches out, leather creaking with the movement, and when his fingers come into contact with Matt's shoulder, he prepares himself for the imminent fight.</p><p>Mello shoves Matt hard enough to compromise his stability, but it's only distraction because his opposite hand has already curled into the fist aimed at Matt's mouth. The blow comes hard and fast, and even though Matt's prepared himself for it, the pain that lances through his lips, gums, and chin is enough to knock him sideways. He reaches out reflexively, fingers grappling for something to latch on to. Mello, however, already has the back of Matt's shirt in his hand, twisting the fabric and tugging hard enough to pull the collar flush against Matt's throat.</p><p>Matt ignores the ragged edge of his breathing, still jeopardized by Mello's unrelenting grip. His trust in Mello is transcendent, making him seem irrational and idiotic to others; but Matt has never cared about the opinions of others when it comes to the volatile blond. He focuses, instead, on the pain that's gripping the lower half of his face. He parts his lips and sweeps his tongue across the bottom line of his mouth before spitting a glob of blood onto the shoddy vinyl flooring. The red splatter is bright in contrast to the white tile and Matt gets preoccupied with the crimson stain for a short spell.</p><p>Mello calls him back to the present moment with a sharp tug that cuts off his breathing entirely. Mello bodily shoves him up against the wall, trapping his hands between the cold resistance and his own body before he has time to mitigate the point of contact. Mello is close enough that Matt can feel his hot breath on the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the spill of heat instead of the inevitable panic crawling through his chest like a parasite begging for air.</p><p>Mello lets go of Matt's shirt and drags his hand down the delicate curvature of his spine while Matt coughs himself into breathing, spraying tiny droplets of spittle and blood on the tile in front of him. He doesn't feel Mello curl his fingers around his belt until his knuckles dig in against the low of his spine. It feels like a threat lying in wait because Mello is as unpredictable as a summer storm. And it's funny because Matt likes perpetual patterns as much as Near likes puzzles, but when it comes to Mello, he loves the fact that he can't fit him into the shape of predictability. Mello is ever-changing, and therefore, never boring.</p><p>Mello spins Matt around and cages him between his arms no sooner than Matt falls slack against the support of the wall. The passion in his eyes spreads to warmth in the low of Matt's belly—he's as hungry for Mello's affection as a desert man thirsts for rain.</p><p>“Who's the bitch now?” Mello purrs, arching an eyebrow and licking his lips in a way that can only be suggestive.</p><p>“I didn't call you a bitch. I said you were being bitchy,” Matt clarifies needlessly. “You never listen to me,” he adds, whining.</p><p>“If only that were true.” Mello lowers an arm to take Matt's chin before his thumb and forefinger. “Then I wouldn't have high blood pressure and you wouldn't be covered in bruises all the time.” Mello slides his thumb out across Matt's bottom lip, eyes tracking the movement. “But I'm stubborn and you're selfish, not to mention, you're pretty when you bleed for me.”</p><p>“I bleed because of you, Mello.” Matt parts his lips and takes Mello's gloved thumb into his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood and the earthiness of leather. He bites down on the material and holds Mello's thumb between the edges of his teeth, watching him intently beneath the lines of his lashes.</p><p>“Yet, after all these years, I don't think I've heard you complain once.” Mello tugs his thumb free of Matt's bite and removes his gloves. “Are you going to start now when you're the reason this is happening? And for the record, I believe your exact words were: <em>what if I want to be a little bitch like you—</em>ring any bells?”</p><p>Matt sucks his bottom lip into his mouth in a show of put-on innocence before letting the split tissue spring free from his teeth. He ignores the latter and settles with: “You're always blaming everything on me.”</p><p>Mello presses his palm flat against Matt's chest and forces him closer to the wall at his back. “Don't play innocent, Matt. We both know what your end goal is here.”</p><p>“Are you threatening me?” Matt asks, the pink-tinged saliva on his teeth catching in the fluorescent lights above them. “You're such a flirt.”</p><p>“In your eyes, I'm a paragon,” Mello says, raking his nails down the front of Matt's shirt.</p><p>Matt lets silence crowd his teeth because it's true. He's loved Mello since they were kids with a passion so violent and bright that it nearly consumed him. It was a feeling that nothing could equal, and when Mello split from Wammy's he was left with a hole that couldn't be filled, not by video games or cigarettes or junk food. He had turned to self-harm but the blood that flowed freely from his veins wasn't enough—so when he couldn't bleed Mello out he tried to replace him with poison, filling his veins with drugs that kept him awake and as unsettled as the ghosts inside his heart. He spent his nights with nameless lovers and his days with static charges and the memory of a blond he wanted to hate so badly it ached. It hurt worse than the detox, worse than the mornings spewing bile and blood, muscle spasms hitting him deeper than the voices inside of his head.</p><p>Matt shakes his head as if the motion can drive the memory out of his mind. He isn't on good terms with his past and he prefers to keep it at a distance whenever he can. If lust is his current companion, then history can only be his enemy.</p><p>Mello is sliding Matt's belt through the loops in his jeans when he looks down, goggles slipping forward on his head. Mello tosses the strip of wide leather aside, the silver grommets scraping the tile as it slides toward the door. Matt tries not to think about the microscopic particles of piss and shit on the floor, carried across dirty tiles on the soles of former visitors. However, he doesn't have time to think about it for long because Mello's hands are pushing up the withered edges of his shirt, and the skin-on-skin contact is enough to steer the thought out of his head.</p><p>“You're distracted,” Mello notes, ducking his head to lay a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the smooth column of Matt's throat. He walks his cold digits down the bony ridges of Matt's ribs and digs his fingers in against his intercostal muscles. Matt inhales a hiss of breath as Mello simultaneously closes his teeth around the pulse skipping beneath his skin.</p><p>“I was just thinking about how much of an asshole you used to be,” Matt tells him, lifting a hand to card his fingers through the loose fall of Mello's hair. “Not that much has changed...”</p><p>Mello lifts his head a fraction, and Matt shivers when he feels Mello's teeth close on his earlobe in place of a response. He flicks his tongue out and traces the shell of Matt's ear, making the redhead flinch away from where his skin assumes the form of sensitivity. Matt whines and closes his hand on the stands between his fingers. “Mello, that tickles.”</p><p>“Does it?” Mello asks, his breath spilling into Matt's ear in a way that draws his back away from the wall. “You've always been so sensitive here.” He lifts a hand to the base of Matt's throat and squeezes, drawing a pathetic whine up from the shadowed passage. Matt's skin is mottled with tiny bumps that give way to texture beneath Mello's fingertips. “It wouldn't be a bad way to torture you, you know?” Mello needles behind a smile.</p><p>“Don't be mean,” Matt says and it sounds more like a plea than he intends it to. He drags his hand forward, his nails scraping the line of Mello's scalp. “I know that there's at least one bone of sympathy in your body.”</p><p>Mello's mouth tilts on a wolfish grin and he digs his thumb into a motley of old bruises that defile Matt's throat. “What makes you think that I'll offer it up to you?” Mello leans forward and flicks his tongue over the split in Matt's lip. “You're a puppy. If I start exposing my bones to you, I'll never get them back.”</p><p>“That's not true,” Matt protests, injecting so much sincerity into his words that it spills into desperation. “'Sides, if you don't stimulate me, I'll start to misbehave.”</p><p>“Fuck knows we can't have that,” Mello grumbles, sliding his hand from Matt's throat to the nape of his neck. He tugs Matt forward and into a kiss meant to bruise, his teeth cutting into the bottom line of his mouth with the same wanton fervency as the vain-glorious are to boast. Matt parts his lips and Mello appropriates the unstated concession to slip his tongue into Matt's mouth.</p><p>Matt whimpers and the vibration of it spills into Mello's mouth, wraps around his tongue like silk and turns into a low groan of satisfaction. Matt tightens his hand into a fist and tugs Mello closer, unruffled by the way he's writhing against the leather-clad male like a dog in heat.</p><p>“Fuck,” Mello breathes, breaking the kiss to pant stale oxygen back into his lungs. He licks the saliva from his lips and puts a commanding hand on Matt's shoulder. “Get on your knees.”</p><p>Mello doesn't have to push Matt to the floor because Matt is falling to his knees before Mello even has the chance. He pops Mello's belt buckle free from its respective holes and lets the leather strap of his belt fall to the floor with a quiet smack. His fingers move with practiced ease, opening up the laces on Mello's pants to reveal what he craves most. In his haste, he determines that if Mello wants him to be a pet, he'll hand over every stitch of his submission to the blond willingly.</p><p>Matt retrieves the fallen belt and loops it around his neck like a collar, then he threads the remaining stretch of leather through the affixed buckle, forming a makeshift leash. He looks up at Mello with a profusion of alertness that only Mello seems to bring out of him. He curls his fingers around Mello's wrist, his pulse alive beneath his fingers, and places the belt in the heart of his palm.</p><p>Mello immediately closes his fingers on the leather and Matt wastes no more time. He wets his lips and wraps a hand around the base of Mello's cock, half-hard and thrumming, and with one last look up at his owner, Matt takes Mello into his mouth.</p><p>“That's a good boy,” Mello purrs, and Matt whimpers at the praise.</p><p>Matt scoots himself closer to Mello and fits himself in the space between his feet. He sucks Mello's cock like he's stranded in the middle of the ocean and it's the only thing keeping him afloat. He treats the growing arousal like it's something sacred, something that will wash away his sins; and Matt knows that he'd live his entire life of martyrdom without complaint if it meant keeping Mello by his side. He would hang his own cross and let Mello crucify him if it made his lover happy.</p><p>There's nothing he wouldn't do for Mello.</p><p>Mello tugs on the makeshift leash and rocks his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into Matt's mouth, salt and heat dragging over his tongue. He can taste the bitter piquancy of Mello's precome as it slips down his throat and smell the headiness of his arousal. It's sensory overload by every definition and Matt lets it consume him.</p><p>Mello steals the breath from Matt's lungs, whether reactionary or intentional, Matt can't tell but he's losing his balance. His vision wavers and everything in the room skids sideways. He tries to relax the muscles in his throat without alerting Mello, but with the way he's fucking his throat and the tension of the handmade leash digging into his skin, Matt begins to retch involuntarily.</p><p>Mello draws back and yanks Matt off of his cock with one sharp pull on the belt. Saliva leaks past the corners of Matt's mouth and the sharp drag of motion sends him reeling. He catches himself on his palms and looks up at Mello with slick on his chin and desire in his eyes. He swallows the moisture that's pooling in the back of his throat and Mello's gaze shifts to track the motion.</p><p>“I didn't expect you to choke yourself. You know I don't get off on vomit,” Mello says as he drops his free hand to the hard jut of his cock. Matt watches him stroke over himself, skin glistening with his saliva and turning an angry shade of red. Mello moans and tightens his grip, thumb dragging over his cock's slit to smear a heavy bead of precome into his skin.</p><p>“You know I'd do it if you wanted me to,” Matt tells him, voice raspy and raw with heat. Then he remembers the latter part of Mello's statement and thinks about amending his declaration, but Mello is shaking his head and Matt is lost to the crooked smile on his lips.</p><p>Mello's hand stills on his hardness and he tugs Matt back onto his feet. “Gross,” he says and plants a chaste kiss on Matt's lips. “You have a lot of issues, Puppy-kun.”</p><p>Matt doesn't need to lower his gaze to see that Mello has gone back to stroking himself. He can hear the slick catching on his skin, the slide of friction, and when Mello drags the flat of his tongue over the drool on his chin, it takes all of the strength left in his body to keep himself upright.</p><p>“That's because my Master has been shirking his duties.” Matt tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and unfastens his jeans. “'Sides, how can you blame me for wanting to please you?”</p><p>Mello slides his tongue across the points of his teeth and lowers his gaze to the front of Matt's jeans. “Is that what you think?” Mello lets the leash slip out of his grip and he can see the trace of fear in Matt's eyes before the leather even reaches his chest. “Is that why you initiated this?” Mello reaches out and strokes the contour of Matt's cheek tenderly.</p><p>Matt nuzzles Mello's hand and bobs his head in the affirmative. “I needed to know that you still wanted me.” He hates how weak it sounds, and to make matters worse, his voice wavers when he speaks.</p><p>“I've told you a thousand times that I'm never going to stop wanting you,” Mello tells him, scraping a speck of blood off of Matt's cheek.</p><p>“I know but...I'm afraid that you're going to leave again. That one day, I'm going to wake up and you're going to be gone.” Matt meets Mello's gaze directly, eyes swimming with emotion and glazed with heat. “So can you promise to tell me a thousand more times, if that's what it takes for me to believe you?”</p><p>Mello huffs a short breath of laughter and tugs Matt into a strong embrace. “You know I hate repeating myself, but if it's you, I'll tell you until it's so ingrained in your thick skull that you hear it in your sleep.”</p><p>Matt wraps his arms around Mello's back and buries his face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you, Master,” he says, and at that moment, the epithet is no longer about sexual gratification but the significance of ownership and the control Matt <em>needs</em> Mello to have.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Mello asks, and it sounds so foreign on his tongue that Matt has to smile. Mello may be an explosive amalgamation of emotions but he's never been good at expressing the less destructive ones.</p><p>Matt nods and the simple gesture is enough to restore the previous atmosphere. Mello takes a step back and jerks his chin in the direction of the soap dispensing cabinet and the porcelain sinks it serves. “If you want me to show you that I want you, finish taking off your pants and go sit up on the counter.”</p><p>Matt kicks off his shoes and shucks his jeans, all while he fights the age-old habit of tugging his shirt down to hide the cigarette burns that dot his freckled thighs. He walks over to the counter, anticipation winding tight in his gut as a kaleidoscope of butterflies beat their wings against his ribcage. He jumps up on the hard surface, half-afraid that the structure won't hold his weight. When it doesn't exhibit any signs of stress, Matt relaxes and waits for Mello's next command. He swings his feet idly and leans back on his palms, his fingers sliding through wayward water droplets.</p><p>“Now what?” Matt blurts, his eyes trained on Mello's face. “My butt's getting chilly.”</p><p>“You've never been at one with patience, puppy,” Mello teases. “Spread your legs. I want to watch you open yourself up for me.”</p><p>“Yeah well, you've always been a lecherous Master.” Matt lets his knees fall apart and pushes his weight back against the cold mirror. He props one foot up on the ledge of the countertop and slides a finger over the cleft of his ass. “I need help. I'm not wet enough yet.”</p><p>“You're helpless. Get your fingers wet,” Mello commands, his hand working himself back to weeping fullness.</p><p>“But it's dirty,” Matt whines, glancing down at the counter to underscore his point.</p><p>“Says the one who has no problem tracking mud into the house every day,” Mello grouses as he makes his way over to Matt. “You just like when I spoil you.”</p><p>“Of course I do,” is Matt's response. “That's how I know that you love me.”</p><p>Mello rolls his eyes but the gesture bears no authentic annoyance. He opens his mouth and spits onto his fingers. The action is ribald and somewhat savage, and it makes Matt's arousal twitch in expectation.</p><p>“You say that like putting my life on the line pales in comparison.” Mello pushes his fingers between the soft curves of Matt's ass and drags his slick skin over the redhead's entrance. Matt tenses and inhales a breath that resembles the slow drag of a cigarette. He lets his head fall back against the mirror and Mello can see his toes curling out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Fuck, how long have you been waiting for this?” Mello asks and slips a single digit into the imploring demand of Matt's body.</p><p>“I always want you,” Matt confesses, muscles drawing tight around Mello's intrusion. “I think that's answer enough, yeah?”</p><p>Mello bites the inside of his cheek and slips another finger in alongside the first. Matt is already opening up to him, the tension that greeted Mello initially has gone slack. He scissors his fingers and pushes them deeper, down to the bruises that discolor his knuckles. Then suddenly a low rumble of laughter purrs up Mello's throat, earning him an inquisitive look from Matt.</p><p>“Well, it wouldn't be us if we didn't take things too far, right?” Mello asks as if the chords in his throat are starting to rust.</p><p>“I guess there's some truth to that.” Matt appears to mull over the question for a second longer. “I don't know that I like the way you're thinking with your fingers buried knuckle-deep in my ass though.”</p><p>“Considering how wet your cunt is for me, I find that very hard to believe. You're not going to think twice about anything I do to your right now.” Mello smiles slowly and the languid drag of his lips makes Matt shiver. “Unless I were to <em>stop</em> what I'm doing,” Mello teases, stilling his fingers just long enough to drag a whimper of disappointment out of Matt's mouth.</p><p>“What's your point?” Matt asks, canting his hips reflexively in an attempt to grind down on Mello's fingers.</p><p>The hunger of a lion writes itself across Mello's face as he retrieves his gun from the counter and holds it up in front of his prey. “Do you know what I've always appreciated about you?”</p><p>Matt's lips part for breath and his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open. “W-what?” he stammers, riding high on stimulation and alive with electricity.</p><p>“You've never been afraid of me.” Mello presses the shiny weapon against Matt's swollen lips and waits for the deference he knows will follow. He's as sure of Matt's response as the birds are of the sky, and within seconds, Matt concedes. Mello hears the front sight click against Matt's teeth and reminds himself to be attentive. He splits his focus between the cautious shift of the gun and the way his fingers are moving inside of Matt's responsive heat.</p><p>Matt hums an incoherent response and Mello arches an eyebrow that bespeaks his amusement. “It's loaded, you know,” he announces with an extra note of casualness in his voice.</p><p>Matt squeezes his eyes shut and Mello can feel him tighten around his fingers, making it almost impossible to maintain his rhythm. Matt furrows his brow and Mello can see the precursor of imminent release in the hastened rise and fall of his chest. Matt's cock twitches and ribbons of come paint his chest in stripes opposite to those on his shirt.</p><p>Mello gingerly removes the gun from Matt's aperture, the exposed barrel slick with saliva that connects to Matt's lips. The thin strand breaks when Matt smears moisture into his lips and swallows the collection of liquid on his tongue. Mello sets the gun aside despite the wealth of inspiration that swims to the forefront of his thoughts. Now isn't the time to play with fire when he's standing so close to the flame.</p><p>Impatience is a thorn that sticks him in the side and he can no longer deny his body of what it so desperately wants.</p><p>“Come here,” Mello says, freeing his fingers from Matt's soaked channel to bodily tug him off of the counter and into standing. He spins him around and forces him over the edge of the hard surface, his unsoiled hand sliding through Matt's red strands. He yanks his head back and forces him to look directly at the mirror. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”</p><p>“I'm too sensitive,” Matt whines, but he's already negating the protest by widening his stance in the way he's grown accustomed to. He drops his weight down on his elbows and skids forward, bracing himself for Mello's ministrations.</p><p>“That's funny because you're still hard and making a mess of the counter,” Mello says, reaching out to circle his free hand around Matt's cock. “Look at this,” he orders, collecting a union of viscous fluid and sticky release on his fingers. “You're as wet here as you are inside of your loose pussy.”</p><p>“Then fuck me already,” Matt counters cheekily, the embers of his fire still burning bright. He sticks out his bottom and meets Mello's gaze in the mirror. “I can feel your cock against my ass and you're rock hard.”</p><p>Mello twists the hand in Matt's hair, making him cry out in a delicious fusion of pain and pleasure. “Who's in charge of who here?” Mello inquires, a storm rolling in over the low timbre of his voice. He removes his hand from Matt's erection and braces a hand on his hip. His fingers dig into the slight depression beneath the jut of his hipbone, nails catching on skin.</p><p>“You're in charge, Master,” Matt submits, eagerness shaping the edge of his tone.</p><p>Mello thinks about how easy it is for Matt to switch from spirited to passive in nothing flat, but that's neither here nor there because the rivers of Mello's restraint have been bled dry. He lines himself up to Matt's entrance and with a single thrust, he finds himself enveloped in Matt's warmth.</p><p>Matt rocks forward and Mello watches the line of his jaw go tight as he begins to fuck into him, each thrust punctuated by urgency and the need for gratification they both would give their eyeteeth for. Mello presses his boots down harder against the floor and as he sinks deeper into Matt, he can feel the muscles in his legs draw tight.</p><p>“Fuck, Mello,” Matt whines, fingers flexing before going straight again. “You're gonna kill me.”</p><p>“If I was going to kill you, you would have been in the ground a long time ago,” is Mello's response, cut by breath and temptation. “You're just not used to being fucked this hard, but this is what a bitch in heat deserves.”</p><p>Matt lifts his head and meets Mello's reflection in the mirror. There's more blood on his mouth, the split centered in his bottom lip undoubtedly reopened by Matt's teeth. Sex aside, Matt has always had a bad oral fixation, chewing on everything from his lips to his nails to inanimate objects. Mello has recently taken to keeping his pockets loaded with mints and chewing gum to shove into Matt's mouth whenever he catches him chomping down on something that doesn't belong between his teeth. Even now, with his cock seated fully inside of the redhead, Mello thinks about popping a peppermint into Matt's mouth to keep him occupied but the thought is fleeting.</p><p>Mello keeps a firm grip on Matt's hair and a tighter grip on his hip. The sound of skin-on-skin contact echos throughout the bathroom and Mello finds himself growing weak, seduced by the resonant accents of animalistic prurience. He rolls his hips in a way that he's practiced many times before, a titillating motion that acts as a magnet and draws Matt back against him. His movements are as uneven as they are eager, and Mello has to sink the sharp points of his teeth into his tongue to keep himself from coming. He knows that Matt wouldn't care, he'd likely rejoice in Mello's capitulation, but Mello has made it a rule that he can't surrender before Matt does.</p><p>As if Matt can taste Mello's longing, a drunken dog in heat, he grinds himself down on Mello's cock like it's the only vice he's ever needed in his life. In any case, he doesn't want to think about the truth in that, not when he's this high, riding wild and free.</p><p>“Give me permission,” Matt pants, his eyes locking on Mello's. He's looking at him like the avaricious gawk at gold. “I need you to...”</p><p>“Come for me,” Mello interjects, knowing full well what Matt wants, what he <em>needs</em>.</p><p>Matt cries out as he comes for a second time, his body trembling through a series of languid shudders. Mello unfurls his fingers from Matt's hair to wrap his arm around Matt's thin waist, pulling him flush against his chest. He no longer knows who he's supporting as his knees go weak but it doesn't matter because he's spilling himself to completion inside the tight grip of Matt's body.</p><p>“Fuck,” Mello bites, the word harsh and radiant on his lips. He lowers his head down to the slight protrusion of Matt's shoulder, breath coming in short pants. Matt is slumped forward, his forehead is pressing against the countertop and his back is bent in a delicate arch. Mello can hear each drag of his breath, throatier in sound than his own due to Matt's protracted affair with cigarettes.</p><p>“You're gonna have to give me a minute to reset,” Matt quips, his voice muted by the angle of his position. “I came twice already. What more do you want from me?”</p><p>Mello smiles and it moves across his lips like syrup. “What I want is for you to” –Mello grips Matt's hips tightly and slowly pulls out of him– “get on a plane with me so we can get home. I want to fuck you properly.”</p><p>Matt walks his hands up the counter with a groan, wincing as he straightens out his spine. “Are you gonna fuck me in a suit, 'cause I'm pretty sure you just fucked me proper.”</p><p>Mello snorts a breath of laughter as he grabs a handful of paper towels. “You know as well as I do that it's not the same.” He splits the stack of absorbent paper in half and hands Matt his share. “I want to fuck you in our bed. I'm tired of having to improvise.”</p><p>“You're such a sucker for home,” Matt says, smiling. He begins to wipe away the mess of slick that overlays his softening cock. “You say that you like being on the road but I don't think that's true. It's either that or you just miss the handcuffs.”</p><p>“I do miss the handcuffs,” Mello says, throwing a wad of soiled tissue into the trash. “But that's not why I want to go home.” He grabs another small stack of paper towels and jerks his head toward the opposite wall. “Turn around.”</p><p>Matt turns on his heel without complaint and frowns at the residue crusted on his shirt. “Don't tell me that you miss Near.”</p><p>“I wouldn't joke about that when I'm this close to your ass unless you want my entire fist buried in it,” Mello warns as he cleans the viscous remains of his come from Matt's skin.</p><p>“It wouldn't be the first time,” Matt replies, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.</p><p>Mello leans forward and whispers against the shell of Matt's ear, making him shiver as his breath ghosts Matt's skin. “I've never tried going past my wrist.”</p><p>“Point taken,” Matt succumbs, dancing away from Mello's touch. “Okay, okay, I'm clean.”</p><p>“Sensitive puppy,” Mello teases.</p><p>“You try getting fucked by you. You're merciless.” Matt balls up the leftover tissue in his palm and aims it at the trashcan. “I'll be feeling you all the way home.”</p><p>Mello works the laces on his pants back into place and smiles behind the fall of his hair. “That's true, considering how much of me is still inside of you. Now get dressed.”</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” Matt salutes, and walks over to where his belongings lie in a heap on the floor. He tugs on his jeans and idly works his belt through the loops that sit close to his hips. Lastly, he attempts to slip on his shoes but loses his balance, catching himself on Mello's arm.</p><p>“How are you already dressed?” he asks the blond, frowning.</p><p>“I'm not,” Mello says and slips the makeshift leash free from Matt's neck.</p><p>“I forgot,” Matt says, checking his pockets for his PSP and pack of cigarettes.</p><p>“I noticed. Don't think that I wasn't tempted to let you wear it out of here.” Mello gestures at his belt buckle and waggles his fingers in a come hither motion.</p><p>Matt retrieves the accessory from the floor and slaps it down on Mello's open palm. “I would have, you know.” He lifts his fingers to his throat and touches the band of reddened skin left in the belt's wake. “I kind of miss it already.”</p><p>The corner of Mello's mouth lifts in a smirk and as soon as his belt buckle is back in place, he tugs Matt into a sloppy kiss. When they finally part, Matt's fingers are buried in his hair and his lips are slick with Matt's blood. “I know,” is Mello's response, and it's obvious that Matt is still too caught by the kiss to connect it to what he said only moments ago.</p><p>Mello retrieves his gun from the counter and conceals it beneath his clothing. He glances around the bathroom briefly before looking at Matt. “You ready?”</p><p>“How do you always get through security?” Matt asks suddenly, furrowing his brow. “I mean, I know <em>how</em> but not everyone can be persuaded by money and threats, right?”</p><p>Mello scoffs and walks toward the door. “You know the answer to that, Matt.” He slides the outmoded lock free of its slide and tugs the door open. “Come on. We can talk on the plane.”</p><p>Matt grins and slips through the gap between Mello and the doorframe. “We can do more than talk, you know...”</p><p>“I have to start keeping you on a tighter leash,” Mello mumbles. He follows behind Matt and lets the door close behind him, paying no mind to the small line of agitated people who were undoubtedly waiting to use the restroom.</p><p>He hooks his index finger around one of Matt's belt loops and listens to him prattle on about some new video game as they make their way to the terminal. He only hears half of what Matt is saying, partly due to the fact that only a whit of the one-sided conversation makes sense to him. Though, more importantly, he's too busy parsing through the myriad of his thoughts, wondering just when exactly he opened up his arms and allowed himself to fall.</p><p>He supposes it bears little importance as long as he never has to admit it aloud. If it's Matt, he doesn't mind losing control every once in a while. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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